AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She bit her lip in thought. Percy was obviously dissatisfied with his life and content with loneliness. She could still picture him there, in his spot by the library window. It was as if the minutes that rolled by were a torment. She had seen him one night, walking to his room. It was the first time Fanny had seen anything other than annoyance or dread in his face. He had looked relieved. Fanny imagined he was relieved that another day had passed and that he could close his eyes and sleep. Perhaps it was because in his dreams he could see again.
And she wasn’t there.
Fanny sat up, plucking angrily at the grass with her fingers. This could not carry on forever. Eventually they would have to learn to tolerate one another. But Fanny didn’t know when that day would come. She didn’t care. For now, she had a friend. Mr. Gregory could keep her company if she was ever in need of a nice conversation that lacked sharp diatribes and insults.
A few hours had passed before Fanny’s thoughts slowed. She had only read ten pages of her book. She stood, stretching her back, and walked back to the house. She hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, and her stomach growled at the thought of a nice meal. Luckily the cook had stayed at Wellington Manor. Just the day before, Fanny had taken the long walk to the village and purchased enough food to last the rest of the week, hoping to help ease the work of the few remaining servants, and to stave off some of her own boredom. The brief communication that it had required with Mr. Wellington had been less than pleasant. But with only a few others in the house to perform any of the work, Fanny wanted to do her part.
With her book in hand, Fanny walked through the back door of the house and untied her bonnet. “I am now inside the house, Mr. Wellington!” she called. “I thought you might like to know that I am not sneaking around!”
The proceeding silence sat heavily in Fanny’s stomach. Her gaze swept over the hall and she walked tentatively toward the staircase. She passed the staircase and walked down the west hall and into the library. Peeking her head around the bookcase, she found that Percy was not in his usual spot in the leather chair by the window. Fanny’s brow furrowed with confusion. She left the room and stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Looking up to the next floor with narrowed eyes, she planted her hands on her hips. “I should like a response from you! If you would like me to stop shouting, you must reply at once!”
Her heart pounded when her ears received nothing yet again. He usually shouted something flippant in response. Where could he have gone? She placed her hand gently on the banister and moved up to the second floor. She had intended to make her footsteps loud so Percy could know where she was, but her ears strained to pick up any sound that might indicate his location. She tiptoed toward the third level stairs. Nothing. But when she reached the fourth level, a small sound caught her attention.
“Mr. Wellington?” she half-whispered. Fanny didn’t know why this floor of the house seemed to demand silence, but there was an eerie stillness that chilled her bones. The curtains were drawn over the cobweb-rimmed windows, and all she could see in the resulting darkness were the outlines of old tapestries and paintings framed in dust. “Percy, are you here? Please answer me.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking.
“I’m over here.” It was Mr. Wellington’s voice, muffled by the unseen walls between them. He sighed in frustration.
Fanny’s head turned to the left and she walked toward the sound. “Where are you?” she whispered.
“If I knew, I would tell you.” His voice paused. “Actually, no, I likely would not.”
Fanny rolled her eyes and stopped at the doorway of a large room with no windows. She could scarcely see a thing. Squinting through the blackness, she saw the faint outline of a man. “Mr. Wellington, is it you?”
The shadow moved. “No, it is a ghost.”
She jumped back, knocking the door shut. “Can you be serious for one moment? I do not appreciate your mocking commentary.” Fanny extended her arms in front of her and walked with slow steps, careful to not crash into anything.
“Have you ever paused to wonder whether that is the very reason I give it?”
“Of course that is the reason. You find pleasure in vexing me. But what have I done to deserve it?” Fanny was only a few feet away from him now, but his outline only seemed to grow darker as she neared him.
Several seconds passed before he answered. “You are not a shy, quiet, relenting woman. That is why.”
Fanny scoffed. “So my disposition determines whether or not I am deserving of happiness?”
“I did not say that.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Your disposition determines whether or not you win my favor,” Mr. Wellington said in a dull voice.
“To not be in the good favor of one’s husband is certainly an indicator of unhappiness. How shall I be happy if the only person whose company I am to keep despises me?” Fanny stopped. “I have lost sight of you. Walk toward my voice.”
A few shuffling footsteps moved in her direction and she walked toward the sound, her hands outstretched. Her fingers jabbed into something just above her. Mr. Wellington’s face. He cried out in surprise.
“Sorry! So sorry!” Fanny dropped her hand, eyes wide in the darkness in a futile effort to see.
He released a slow breath mingled with a grumble. “But I am not the only person whose company you keep,” he said, continuing the subject. “You and my groundskeeper seem to have become instant friends.” There was something bitter in his tone.
“Do you object to the friendship? You don’t seem to be offering your own.”
“That is because you would not accept it.” he snapped. “You are far too headstrong and stubborn and—”
“You do not know anything about me,” she interrupted. “How can you assume anything about my character without first making an attempt to understand me?”
“But do you understand me? Have you paused to try?”
She faltered. “You would not have allowed it.”
